foot to foot, while on the field Krishnan boys ran about with scoops and buckets collecting animal droppings. At last, from the stables in the distance, the lancers, in uniforms of black and gold with silvered cuirasses, on matched black ayas, trotted into the field. A brass band played.
The soldiers maneuvered their ayas in elaborate square, circular, and pinwheel formations, crossing in and out like square dancers. They ended with a charge down the field, in double rank with lances leveled. At the end, they brought their mounts to a simultaneous skidding stop.
After the drill came a series of class judgings. A group of riders of yearling shomals trotted out, put their mounts through paces, and lined up before the judges, who sat on a row of folding chairs in front of the grandstand. Then came a class of six-gaited ayas . . .
Reith’s people began to stir and grumble. After the first impact of the pageantry had worn off, there were murmurs against the leisureliness of the program, especially since they had to wait for Khorsh to translate each item of news and for Reith to translate Khorsh.
“Should have brought my shooting stick,” said Mrs. Whitney Scott. “I’m too old to stand all afternoon.”
“Snails are fast compared to this,” growled Maurice Considine. “Too much dead time between each event and the next. Have a swig, Fearless?” He extended a flask of kvad, which he had bought from a refreshment stand behind the grandstand.
“No, thanks,” said Reith. “I need my wits. Well, if we’re all agreed to go—”
“Hey!” said Considine. “What are they doing now?”
“A jumping contest,” explained Khorsh. The priest pointed to the field, where workmen were setting up hurdles and other props. Others were filling a wide, shallow trench with water from a tank wagon. “This will be for aya hunters. The riders must follow a course like this—” (he made looping motions in the air) “—and stay within the markers—those barrels.”
“Gotta see this,” said Considine, weaving slightly. “Used to do that kind of thing myself. Right, John?”
“Oh, sure,” said Turner.
Reith wondered how much kvad Considine had drunk. Certain Krishnan plants had the property, when properly treated, of fermenting to a liquor much stronger than any Terran wine, albeit lower in alcoholic content than distilled Terran liquors. Although the principle of distillation was known, Krishnans did not distill their booze. They had no need to.
The first contestant trotted out on his horned, six-legged mount, colored like a palomino horse. Some of Reith’s tourists snickered at the sight of the rider’s headgear, which bore a startling resemblance to a Terran derby hat with a chin strap.
“It is a kind of padded leather helmet,” explained Khorsh, “in case the rider should fall off on his head.”
The contestant broke into a canter, cleared a hurdle, brought his mount around in a tight circle, cleared another hurdle, ducked beneath a crossbar set up in his path, cleared the water hazard in a long jump, galloped between a pair of posts just wide enough to allow passage, and so on through the intricacies of the course. When he finished, the crowd whistled to show appreciation. In their chairs, the judges scribbled notes.
After six more contestants had put their mounts through the course, Reith asked: “Father Khorsh, how many more of these?”
“Five more, my son. After that come the finals, when the three best jumpers will compete; and after that the carriage-driving contest.”
“I guess we’ve seen enough of this,” said Maurice Considine. “That lash—last guy wasn’t much good. I can ride better.”
“Okay,” said Reith. “We’ll watch one more, unless somebody wants to see the carriage-drivers.”
“I would like the carriages if I was not so tired from the esstanding,” said Pilar Guzmán-Vidal.
“Hey!” cried Considine. “Look at that!”
The latest contestant had put his piebald
The soldiers maneuvered their ayas in elaborate square, circular, and pinwheel formations, crossing in and out like square dancers. They ended with a charge down the field, in double rank with lances leveled. At the end, they brought their mounts to a simultaneous skidding stop.
After the drill came a series of class judgings. A group of riders of yearling shomals trotted out, put their mounts through paces, and lined up before the judges, who sat on a row of folding chairs in front of the grandstand. Then came a class of six-gaited ayas . . .
Reith’s people began to stir and grumble. After the first impact of the pageantry had worn off, there were murmurs against the leisureliness of the program, especially since they had to wait for Khorsh to translate each item of news and for Reith to translate Khorsh.
“Should have brought my shooting stick,” said Mrs. Whitney Scott. “I’m too old to stand all afternoon.”
“Snails are fast compared to this,” growled Maurice Considine. “Too much dead time between each event and the next. Have a swig, Fearless?” He extended a flask of kvad, which he had bought from a refreshment stand behind the grandstand.
“No, thanks,” said Reith. “I need my wits. Well, if we’re all agreed to go—”
“Hey!” said Considine. “What are they doing now?”
“A jumping contest,” explained Khorsh. The priest pointed to the field, where workmen were setting up hurdles and other props. Others were filling a wide, shallow trench with water from a tank wagon. “This will be for aya hunters. The riders must follow a course like this—” (he made looping motions in the air) “—and stay within the markers—those barrels.”
“Gotta see this,” said Considine, weaving slightly. “Used to do that kind of thing myself. Right, John?”
“Oh, sure,” said Turner.
Reith wondered how much kvad Considine had drunk. Certain Krishnan plants had the property, when properly treated, of fermenting to a liquor much stronger than any Terran wine, albeit lower in alcoholic content than distilled Terran liquors. Although the principle of distillation was known, Krishnans did not distill their booze. They had no need to.
The first contestant trotted out on his horned, six-legged mount, colored like a palomino horse. Some of Reith’s tourists snickered at the sight of the rider’s headgear, which bore a startling resemblance to a Terran derby hat with a chin strap.
“It is a kind of padded leather helmet,” explained Khorsh, “in case the rider should fall off on his head.”
The contestant broke into a canter, cleared a hurdle, brought his mount around in a tight circle, cleared another hurdle, ducked beneath a crossbar set up in his path, cleared the water hazard in a long jump, galloped between a pair of posts just wide enough to allow passage, and so on through the intricacies of the course. When he finished, the crowd whistled to show appreciation. In their chairs, the judges scribbled notes.
After six more contestants had put their mounts through the course, Reith asked: “Father Khorsh, how many more of these?”
“Five more, my son. After that come the finals, when the three best jumpers will compete; and after that the carriage-driving contest.”
“I guess we’ve seen enough of this,” said Maurice Considine. “That lash—last guy wasn’t much good. I can ride better.”
“Okay,” said Reith. “We’ll watch one more, unless somebody wants to see the carriage-drivers.”
“I would like the carriages if I was not so tired from the esstanding,” said Pilar Guzmán-Vidal.
“Hey!” cried Considine. “Look at that!”
The latest contestant had put his piebald
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